


It's The End Of The World As We Know It..

by melanie1982



Category: Doug Walker - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crack?, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, High School, M/M, Silly, Teen Cas, Teen Dean, apocolapyse, byrequest, highschool, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: Spring 2018. With a new US/Russia nuclear arms race underway and the constant threat of someone pressing 'the big red button,' everyone is looking for a distraction, a brief respite from the constant tension and fear. Everyone must hope for the best but plan for the worst - and some dare to dream bigger dreams than others.In the town of Norman, Kansas, Cas Novak is the most popular guy in school. All he wants is to be loved, just one, true time, before the human race wipes itself off the map.Dean Winchester is.. um, not the most popular guy in school. Like, not even close. All *he* wants is one chance to show Cas that he's worthy of time and attention, just that one, perfect moment of acceptance in his otherwise sucky life.What happens when that one moment turns out to be a lot longer than you expected?Tentatively finished 3/11/2017I don't own SPN's characters. I don't own the lyrics to the song contained in the story. I make no money from this work of fiction.Lyrics are from "I'm A Distraction" (I didn't transcribe every line of the song into the story, and I had to get the lyrics from a website, as YouTube seems to have removed the song).:)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoralQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralQueen/gifts).



May 2018

Norman, Kansas

Dean was an honor roll student at Bonner High. He was vice president of the chess club, secretary of the student council, and could pull off wicked jumps on his bike (which was a good thing, since he didn't have access to a car, and the ride to and from school, dodging fellow students who DID drive, often necessitated stunt-level steering skills).

He had a small group of friends, all bright and ambitious and virgins (yeah, rub it in about that last part), but Dean wasn't like his friends. They were content to hang out at the bottom of the coolness food chain.

Dean had his eyes on the prize.

Castiel Novak - known to those in his inner circle as 'Cas' - was captain of the varsity lacrosse team, basketball team, AND wrestling team. He probably didn't have the first clue about how to play chess, never attended student council 'town hall' meetings, and wouldn't be caught dead trying to ride a bike (Cas had an awesome car, which most of the school referred to reverently as 'The Machine.'), but Dean just knew that Cas had some depth to him underneath all the raw animal magnetism. Adding fuel to Dean's fire, Cas had flirted with, and purportedly dated, some of the hottest girls (and guys) in the school. He was cooler than cool, the stuff of legends - and they weren't even in their senior year yet. 

Dean's friends - Kelly, Marcus, and Phoebo (as in, the male version of Phoebe) all shook their heads and rolled their eyes anytime Cas came into Dean's line of vision. They knew there was no point in trying to talk to D during those moments. Kelly had even begun to tease Dean by referring to Cas as 'Dean's angel.' "I mean, you DO practically worship him," she'd commented at lunch on Tuesday. "You look at him like you can hear heavenly choirs singing or something."

Kelly's biggest dream was to get early admission to John Hopkins. Marcus' dream was to design the world's first virtual reality portal, a means of shifting from one existence to another. Phoebo just wanted to get the hell out of Norman and 'start living,' as he put it. 

As Cas had sauntered out of sight, Dean had returned to the conversation. "Kels, your dream is so.. futile. I mean, even IF you get accepted into the pre-med program, odds are there won't BE a program by the time you graduate. The world is ending; I just know it."

Kelly shrugged. "I'll die happy, knowing I got in. That's all that matters."

Marcus started spouting off about his latest time-space-continuum research, while Phoebo Googled 'best city to live in' on his iPhone.

Dean peered over the young man's shoulder. "Shouldn't you be looking up 'best city to die in'?," Dean deadpanned.

Phoebo exhaled in a huff. "I'm telling you guys, you're over-reacting. Yes, there would be extensive damage and loss of life, but not an end to ALL life."

For the past year, the nation had experienced millions of variations of this conversation/debate. News outlets ran round-the-clock coverage of all known nuclear facilities in the US, as well as speculative stories about hidden sites. In an eerie parallel, Russian media did the same. Dean wondered, as he chewed his crusty-cheesed cafeteria macaroni, if there was a Dean Winchester equivalent somewhere in Russia, having the same type of lunchroom banter with his friends as they waited for the 'big one.'

Cas came briefly back into view as he bussed his tray, then left the cafeteria early for parts unknown. 

Dean sighed, wondering if there was a Russian counterpart to Cas tormenting the Russian version of himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't fit this in the opening summary..
> 
> I have nothing against the Russian people. The 'Russia vs US' aspect of this story was part of the prompt I was given. I am not a xenophobe; in fact, I love the Russian language and culture. So there.
> 
> #NoHate :)

With only a month until school let out for the summer, Dean knew he didn't have much time to find a way to catch Cas' attention.

The problem was, anything Cas was good at, Dean wasn't, and vice versa. Dean wasn't a religious kid, but he figured he had nothing to lose - so he started to offer up a silent prayer to Anyone Who's Listening every time he thought of Cas. "Please let me find a way to get his attention. Please please please..."

Dean was surveying the hallway bulletin boards, checking on potential summer job openings and extra-credit classes while surreptitiously keeping an eye out for another photo of Cas to swipe. He'd almost been busted the year before when he and Phoebo had snuck into the art lab and stolen Cas' individual yearbook pic. Luckily, Phoebo had played the Asperger's card, rambling on about wanting to see the photography equipment up close until Mrs. Crawford had sighed, patted him condescendingly on the head, and sent the boys on their way. Dean kept the photo in a baseball card laminate sleeve under his mattress. For.. you know... help falling asleep. *ahem*. Cas made the student paper more often than not, and Dean cursed his luck that he hadn't been selected as editor, or even a lowly copy boy. Oh, to have access to the latest photos - or even get an interview with Cas!..

As Dean was drifting off into a reverie, Marcus walked up behind him and clapped Dean on the shoulder, making him jump. "What the FUCK, man? Jeez!"

Marcus chuckled. "Swipe any good pictures lately?," he teased.

"Shut up, Marcus. What're you doing over on this side of the building? Don't you have trig fourth period?"

Marcus shrugged. "I finished early. Duh. They're letting me have 'independent study time.'"

Dean grinned. "In other words, Mr. Hoffman doesn't know what to do with you because you're smarter than him, so he let you skip out."

"Pretty much. I also wanted to let you know that a certain someone is struggling with trig and might need tutoring."

Dean stared at Marcus, his eyes going wide. "As in.. um.."

Marcus nodded. "Yes. As in, the guy you want to 'um.' Why don't you volunteer for the after-school homework program? As a bonus, you'd get to hang out with all the teachers for a few extra hours a week," he teased.

Dean hesitated. "What if I don't get assigned to Cas? I mean, what if - "

Marcus shook his head. "Man, you're overthinking this. Just do it. What's the worst that could happen?"

He still wasn't convinced. Marcus was hiding something; Dean could feel it.

"And.. I might have.. kinda.. dropped hints about how awesome you are at trig."

Dean grabbed Marcus' arm, squeezing with more force than he intended. "And?"

"And he knew who you were."

Dean was leading Marcus to the small cubby sheltering the drinking fountain. "What did he say?"

Marcus was enjoying Dean's squirming, but decided a mercy killing was in order. "He asked me, 'Oh, the guy who does the bike jumps?'"

Dean's knuckled blanched, still digging into Marcus' meaty arm. "What else? What else??"

Marcus firmly prised Dean's fingers from his biceps one by one. "Nothing else. He didn't say anything more, good or bad."

Dean flexed his fingers. That had hurt. "Sorry about your arm, man. I just.. Why didn't YOU offer to tutor him?," Dean asked as he leaned against the wall.

Marcus understood. Sort of. "I don't want in his pants," he pointed out. "Besides, this way, you can put in a good word for me to Cas so it can get back to his friend Trina." 

Dean tilted his head. "Trina? As in, Amazonian girls' basketball star Trina?"

Marcus seemed to be blushing; it was hard to tell, since he was so dark-skinned, but Dean felt like he could detect a change. "Hey. We all have our dreams, right?" As he walked away, Marcus called back, "Sign-up sheet's in the office."

Dean called after him. "Where you goin'?"

Marcus turned back with a grin. "It's P.E time. I'm goin' to the courts to watch the girls shoot hoops."

Teenage dreams..


	3. Chapter 3

Dean felt he'd found a new interpretation of the term 'studying hard.'

Sitting close to Cas, poring over math notes (Dean thanked his O.C.D brother Sam for teaching him to take meticulous notes, color-coded and tab-labelled and housed inside sturdy three-ring binders) had taught Dean about several new shades of blue - balls, that is.

His skin was flawless, almost glowing. Cas was one of the few guys in school who had managed to grow any facial hair, and it made him look older and more sophisticated. Like a hot college kid. Dean felt like jailbait, though they were the same age.

At first, it had been awkward; Cas had broken the ice by asking a simple question about Dean's bike, and Dean had spouted off about the damn thing for a solid three minutes - the various speeds, the little touches he'd added to the spokes and handlebars, the custom detailing.. Something halfway between a grimace and a smirk had crept over Cas' face, and Dean stopped mid-sentence, feeling suddenly caught.

"You, uh, you really like your bike, huh? Yeah. I'm that way about my car."

Dean's eyes had glazed over. "You mean 'The Machine'?"

Cas nodded. "Yup. It's my baby. I can't take it off any sweet jumps, though," he added, and Dean wondered whether Cas was laughing at him or with him. Dean decided he didn't care; the point was, Cas was amused. Nothing else mattered.

The first few sessions had been strictly business. Dean was pleasantly surprised by how well Cas was coming along in the lessons, but disappointed that he seemed to have blown his only shot at being more than 'bike and book boy.' 

That all changed the Friday before the long weekend.

As the librarian finished closing up, the boys were gathering their respective study materials and discussing their individual weekend plans.

"Hey, you should stop by my car for a second before you leave. Somethin' I wanna show you," Cas said breezily. The librarian, old enough to be nosy and uncool but not mature enough to let go of her penchant for ogling Cas, slid her gaze over to the two youths as they shouldered their backpacks. Cas shot her a half-smile, and that sent her into a sufficiently distracting flutter for them to make their getaway.

"Your car?," Dean repeated, disbelieving. The words 'somethin' I wanna show you' conjured up all kinds of improbable possibilities inspired by Dean's foray into internet porn; there was no way he'd get that lucky. There had to be an innocent meaning to Cas' invitation.

Dean was halfway correct.

It wasn't sexual, but it definitely wasn't innocent.

Popping the trunk of The Machine, Cas leaned over, Dean trying not to notice the way his jeans now hugged the curve of his ass as he did so.

"What am I looking at?," Dean whispered.

Cas' face slid into a lopsided grin. "I'm planning an epic prank for tonight. Me and some of my pals are going to swipe the second 'N' from the school sign."

Dean contemplated that for several seconds. "You're gonna turn our school into 'BONER HIGH'?" He laughed louder than the joke warranted, and Cas gave him a bemused look. 

"Yeah. I wanted to know if you'd be willing to help us out."

A prank? With the hottest guy in school? As in, high school hijinks, 'jee-willikers', sitcom-style antics? 

"What do you need me to do?" His stomach was in knots. Were they going to make him the decoy, or let him be the fall guy - or was this a legit 'in' for the holy grail of Bonner High, the cool kids' table?

"I was thinking, you're good at math and McGyvering stuff. You could help us figure out what kind of ladder or rope or whatever we need to get up there, what kind of tools to bring, stuff like that."

Mission Impossible, High School Years. "McGyvering? Is that a word?" Dean took a chance, wondering if Cas would be able to take gentle ribbing at his expense.

"Yeah. Like the old dude on that show. My mom LOVES him. She always says 'Smart is sexy.' So, are you in, or are you out?"

Dean blushed. His dick was definitely in. Or maybe out; it was trying to .. whatever. "I'm in."

Cas clapped him on the back. "Great. I made a false bottom for the trunk of my car - never know when you'll need a place to stash something, you know? I figured I could hide the letter N in here for a week or so, then have it reappear after the school and the town has a good long freak-out over it." Cas demonstrated the hidden mechanism, popping open a small compartment which otherwise blended in seamlessly with the rest of the trunk. Dean was in awe.

This was juvenile and dangerous and oh so illegal. Cas was a bad boy, a fallen angel, and Dean was in love. "Yeah. That's.. cool."

Cas reached into Dean's left pocket, retrieving Dean's phone. Dean was trying to remember how to breathe as Cas programmed his number into D's cell. "I'll meet you back here at midnight with the guys. Here - send me a text or call me real quick, so I can store your number in my phone. That way we can communicate about what to bring or whatever."

Or whatever. God.

Dean sent the most erudite first text ever: "Hey."

Cas smiled, typing into his own phone. "There. Saved it." He showed the screen. There was no nickname, no reference to bikes or books or blue balls or - just 'Dean.' 

"See you after dark," said Cas, climbing into The Machine and sitting that divine ass onto the driver's seat, molding to its buttercream leather. Dean wondered which would be softer against Cas' skin - the car's interior, or Dean's tongue.

Fuck.

Dean should've been proud of his grades and accomplishments. He should've been celebrating the fact that Cas had passed his latest trig test with a respectable B plus. He should've been focused on so many other more critical things..

..but all he could think about was the way Cas' hand had felt dipping into his pocket, like it belonged there. Like he had the right.

"Welcome to Boner High," Dean muttered aloud to the wind. It was a very uncomfortable bike ride home, and jumps had nothing to do with it.


	4. Chapter 4

Midnight, Friday

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Dean said under his breath for the umpteenth time. It was pitch black out, and the school lot was deserted, all the faculty now three sheets into the wind in Margaritaville as they kicked off their long weekend. His bike was stashed behind the dumpster at the gas station a block from the school, leaving him to pace as he waited for Cas and the others to arrive.

The purr of the Machine's engine was barely audible at the end of the block, idling a few feet from the bus loop in the parent drop-off zone. Cas had enough sense not to park closer, just in case the cameras worked for once. (Had to be a first time for everything, right?)

Dean had calculated the trajectory for the grappling hook, what tools they'd need to cover every eventuality, and so on, but he couldn't predict or control his reactions to Castiel. The jock smelled like expensive cologne mixed with a hint of adrenaline sweat, and Dean bit his lip to stifle a moan.

Cas was accompanied by only two friends, Manny and Zack. As the four guys discussed their plans, Zack got cold feet, bailing on the group. Cas turned to Manny. "You gonna go with him?"

Manny dismissed the notion. "How 'bout this geek? What's his contribution?"

Cas shot his friend a stern look. "He's the one who's gonna make sure none of us breaks our necks getting that N." His tone was darker, more brooding than Dean had ever heard it, and it sent a shiver up his spine despite the warm night.

Dean adjusted the plan to allow for Zack's departure, and the three boys moved stealthily towards the front of the building. 

Sammy's rock-climbing equipment hadn't been a waste of money after all, Dean thought as the hook found purchase on the school's flat roof. Cas ascended the rope, a canvas bag holding the tools slung over him diagonally, purse-style. As he reached the top, he motioned for Dean to join him, sporting a similar, but empty, bag.

So that left.. Manny as the look-out? 

Manny seemed pissed, but played his role.

Cas and Dean worked quickly, leaning over the edge as they pried the N loose from its brackets. Their hands brushed against each other as they worked, and Dean almost lost his grip for a second, but soon recovered. If they dropped the damn thing, they'd REALLY catch some heat.

"Almost.. fuck, it's tight!.. got it," Cas grunted, and Dean felt himself pressing hard into the gravel on the roof, needing relief. How could anyone be that sexy without trying? It defied all logic.

They stared at their prize for a moment, Dean remembering they should probably leave, and quickly. Like, now.

"You first," he offered, and Cas nodded. Dean made sure no tools were left behind, spotting Cas as he lowered himself down the length of the rope. Dean had the N, tucking it safely into the bag before gripping the rope. Once at the bottom, he worked the length until it released its grip, falling to the ground with a thunk. Cas placed the bagged N into the hidden compartment, and as they drove away, the boys began to celebrate.

"That was so crazy!," Cas said over and over.

Manny was in better spirits now that the deed was done. At least he'd be able to say he'd been there; maybe embellish a little for bragging rights..

Dean was shaking, the combination of the forbidden act and physical exertion heightening his arousal. "Wow. I've never done anything like this in my life," Dean said, wishing he hadn't.

Manny was looking at him differently now. Dean realized Manny had taken the backseat, leaving Dean to ride shotgun. "Let's get your bike," Cas said.

Dean had forgotten about it in his.. excitement. "Oh. Yeah. Thanks."

"Pfft. Some criminal mastermind," Manny sneered.

Cas placed the bike in the trunk with care, and Dean felt like he was reading too much into things.

Their chatter turned to darker subjects as the radio newscast detailed alarming developments at several Russian testing sites. Manny groaned, asking Cas to change the station.

"Manny, this is your stop."

Manny peered out the window. "We're like six blocks from my house! Whaddya mean?"

"I don't want us seen together tonight. Alibi yourself; take a walk, go buy a soda, whatever. Then get home."

Manny opened the door with a harsh jerk, but checked himself before he slammed it. "Later, Cas. Later, Ween."

Dean shriveled into his lightweight jacket.

"Sorry, man. He's .. It's a long story."

Cas was apologizing for how Dean had been treated? What did THAT mean?

Cas followed a seemingly aimless path through the neighborhoods, the two of them making small-talk about this and that.

As Dean recognized the outline of the shuttered post office near his block, he realized Cas had known where to drop him off. How did he know that? "This is close enough. Thanks, Cas. I mean, Castiel."

Cas smiled. "'Cas' is fine."

Dean wondered why Cas stopped the car by the post office, and why he got out to open the trunk.

"You got a tire patch kit on you, MacGyver?," Cas asked, taking a nail from his pocket.

"Huh? What for?"

Cas poked the nail into the tire. "'Cuz you got a flat during your late-night bike ride, goober. That's your alibi. You couldn't have made it to the school with a flat, right?"

Dean should've been angry. Popping his tire was like.. like.. keying the side of The Machine. But it was Cas. Dean almost offered to let him puncture the other tire, too, which made no sense.

"I.. Thanks? I think," Dean managed.

Cas laughed. "No sweat." He closed the trunk. 

Saturday, the small hours

Dean typed out a dozen different texts for Cas that weekend, but never hit 'send' on any of them. What was Cas doing now? Who was he spending time with?

It really was a long weekend without him. How was Dean going to survive an entire summer?

As Dean tried to sleep, he listened to the only radio station that refused to air ANY speculative news - only confirmed items. Dean sang along softly:

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.."


	5. Chapter 5

Boner High's long weekend was over.

Tuesday's study session was the highlight of Dean's week. Part of him was sad, knowing that Cas was improving so much that pretty soon he wouldn't need tutoring. Thoughts of sabotaging the jock by teaching him the wrong way had flitted through Dean's mind, but his higher self prevailed; besides, why would Cas agree to more tutoring from somebody who taught him the wrong way of doing math?

Wednesday and Thursday had Cas busy with lacrosse and basketball practice, respectively. Dean wished he was athletic; even being a cheerleader would be SOMEthing. I mean, the cheerleaders got to go to every game, plus most of the practices, and it was okay for them to scream for the athletes. 

Speaking of athletes..

Dean had managed to put in a good word with Cas about Marcus, which then made its way up to Trina. Trina was now enjoying having a personal cheerleader-slash-tutor at her practice sessions and home games, and Dean was happy for Marcus, really he was..

..but jealous, too.

Kelly caught up with Dean at lunch on Friday. Cas acknowledged Dean in the hallway, but never invited him to his table, which left Dean wondering what the hell was going on in Cas' mind. 

"'Sup, assistant teacher?," she teased. 

"Hey, Kelly. Got any good college acceptance letters lately?"

She brightened as she took a sip from her orange juice. "Only half a dozen. Still, the one letter I want is missing." Kelly leaned in closer across the table, and Dean wondered why he didn't want to stare down her top like so many other guys did. Life with a girl like Kelly would be so easy, if only.. But it wasn't for him. "Speaking of missing letters.. I heard a rumor going around that Cas had something to do with the name change of our school."

Dean's attention snapped back from its wanderings. "Say what?"

She nodded. "Yup. Somebody said they saw him and two other guys at the school Friday night." Kelly glanced over at Cas' table. "I wonder if he's as dumb at pulling pranks as he is in class?"

Dean felt the ire building inside of him. "He's not dumb. Besides, there's no way it was him."

Her eyes slid back to Dean, narrowing. "How do you figure it wasn't him? What are you basing that on?"

Dean floundered, taking a chug of his soda to stall. "I just mean that, well, a guy like that, already so popular - he wouldn't need to pull a stupid prank to get noticed."

Kelly seemed to consider that. "True. But who would? I mean, who would risk their neck just to.. get.. noticed.."

Dean felt her stare. "What?"

"Did you have something to do with it, Dean?"

His mind scrambled for his buried alibi. "No. I was out Friday night, practicing jumps. Got a nail in my front tire before I left the block, and had to go home. Don't you remember me telling you that?"

Kelly took a bite of her sandwich. "You did tell me that." Then, embarrassed, "Sorry, D. I shouldn't listen to gossip - especially from somebody like Zack Simmons."

Dean's head locked, preventing it from swiveling towards Zack where he sat at the cool table. "Zack?"

She squirmed. "Yeah, well. I thought he was.. I mean, I wanted to talk to him, so I struck up a conversation. He's a jerk, by the way. Not nearly as cute up close."

Dean sat back. "You like Zack?"

Kelly frowned. "I DID like him. But now I don't. Problem solved."

"Just like that? He upsets you, and the feelings go away?"

Kelly was done eating. "Pretty much. That's how it's always been for me. I can turn it on and off like a light-switch. See you in history, eighth period."

Zack was a rat. He'd almost gotten Dean into an argument with a friend, and worse, he was jeopardizing Cas' safety.

That shit could not stand.

Dean was going to have to find a way to nip the rumors in the bud.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wouldn't get to talk to Cas until Friday after school. The shortened week meant make-up work for everyone, plus one less day for team practices, and little time to come up with a plan to help protect Cas from being 'outed' by a bitter Zack. 

He discussed the dilemma with Phoebo, who devised a deceptively simple solution. 

"I'll say it was me. I'll play up my newfound obsession with the letter N, or letters in general, and people will add two and two until I tell them it's four."

Dean looked at his friend, incredulous. "You're serious. You'd take the fall for this stupid shit?"

Phoebo gave his version of a smile. "He makes you happy. You get all.. sparkly up here," Phoebo said, waving a hand over the top of his head in the general vicinity of his aura. "It's pretty."

Dean wished he could take a trip through Phoebo's mind. The kid was special, and not in that condescending, politically-correct meaning of the word. "Don't you think there'll be consequences?"

Phoebo turned serious. "Remember the water tower incident?"

"Which one?," Dean countered. Phoebo had climbed that water tower - which was only forty feet high, but that was plenty of height to die from - so many times in grade school, the fire department had developed a 'Code P' alarm to indicate that he was at it AGAIN.

"Okay. My point exactly. It'll be believable." 

Dean had his doubts, but Phoebo persisted. 

"What can I do to repay you for this?," Dean asked.

Phoebo considered the offer. "Will you sit for me and let me draw at least three portraits of you this summer?"

Dean clenched his teeth. The guy was an incredible artist, almost a savant, but he took HOURS - and Dean would be immobile the entire time.

"Sure thing. Three portraits, minimum."

Phoebo stimmed a little, flapping his hands in the air, and Dean smiled. He'd done a good thing, made a win-win decision.

Who knew? Maybe Cas would be so grateful, he'd - 

Nah. Better not build up impossible dreams in his mind.

"Okay. When I see him after school today, I'll tell him your genius plan. Thanks, Phoebo."

Phoebo made kissy noises at Dean, and Dean offered up a silent prayer that each of his friends would get the happy, loved-up ending they deserved. His prayers had become less self-centered as the weeks passed; he supposed being in love might have had something to do with it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean sensed a change in Cas during their study session. It wasn't the work; Cas was proficient in everything on the syllabus, and then some. Dean probed gently to find out what was preying on his mind, and Cas began to open up. 

"Did you hear the rumors, Dean? About Friday night?"

Dean nodded. "I did. I have a possible solution for that," he said, scribbling down the basics in the workbook margin. After a little back and forth, Cas exhaled. "Are you sure that's a good plan? I mean, I don't want your friend to get into trouble.." Dean gave his assurances. "Dean, I'm going to have to repay you guys." 

Dean's heart stuttered in his chest as he waited for Cas to speak again.

"What if you and your friends come to the party I'm having this weekend?"

A party? With Cas and a bunch of cool people?

"Are you sure? Like, me, and Phoebo, and Marcus and Kelly, all at your party?"

Wouldn't the universe collapse in on itself or something? 

"Yeah. My folks turned our bomb shelter into a rec room. There'll be music, food, you know, the usual party stuff. There's plenty of space to dance, too."

Dean wondered if Cas was teasing, or if he really thought a Winchester would be caught dancing in public. Like, ever. Especially in front of CAS. 

"Wow. Yeah. That sounds awesome. You sure it's cool?"

Cas nodded. "You or any of your friends need a ride? Wouldn't want you getting another flat," Cas joked.

A ride? "Kelly might need one. I could probably make it there myself. Marcus and Phoebo are on the bus route, so.."

Cas gave Dean a quizzical look. "I never told you where I live."

Dean swallowed hard. "Well, I never told you where I live, either, but you knew. People talk."

Cas blushed. "About what?"

Shit. "Well.. I mean, you're a popular guy, Cas. You've had a lot of .. friends at this school. Some of whom have spent time in your house. In your room. Or the basement rec room.." Dean wanted the ground to swallow him up. Why couldn't he just shut up? 

Cas straightened, lifting his chin, aiming for detached pride, but failing as he smiled despite himself.

"I see. Well, a reputation isn't the end of the world. I do hope people give me a favorable report overall."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. "I, uh, I think I've taught you all I can, Cas. It's been a pleasure tutoring you, and I look forward to seeing you at the party." 

Cas blinked. "Oh. Okay.. If you're sure I'm all caught up.. Does this mean no more after-school lessons?"

Dean was firm. He was going to go to the party, and then he was going to slowly extract himself from Cas' life. The tension was killing him, the second-guessing, constantly analyzing what Cas said, his facial expressions, looking for signs of interests that could never be there. And don't get Dean started on how sore he was getting from all the jerking off he was doing.. "You'll ace the rest of the semester, Cas. Keep up the good work. I'll see you at the party."

Cas couldn't understand why his heart was pounding so hard, or why he felt suddenly lost. Dean exited the library before Cas' brain could come up with anything more to say. 


	7. Chapter 7

Cas' house was just as cool as Dean had always pictured it. Phoebo and Marcus were suitably impressed by its size, and Marcus was especially excited by the half-size basketball court in the back of the house. 

"Trina is going to FLIP when she sees this place!," he enthused. The pool was covered for the night - Cas' folks didn't want the liability of a bunch of sugar-amped teens diving in and out of it - but there was still plenty of fun to be had. 

Cas had instructed his parents to let Dean, Phoebo and Marcus wait in the basement while he drove to pick up Kelly and Trina. Dean admired the wood paneling of the walls, masking the blast-proof concrete beneath it. There were no windows, of course, being a former bomb shelter, but the lighting made it seem spacious and not at all claustrophobic. The room ran the length and width of the whole house; Cas hadn't been kidding when he'd said there was plenty of space to dance in.

Chairs were lined along the walls, and against the far wall was a long, narrow table laden with drink dispensers, disposable cups, plates, napkins, and an inviting array of snacks. An entertainment center was placed against yet another wall, housing a t.v and stereo system. Dean noticed the gaming system was set up with one of those dance contest games, and smiled to himself as he thought of watching his peers compete with the machine and each other.

Dean was almost afraid to touch anything. He tried to memorize every detail, knowing this was a fluke, a one-off, like seeing a meteor shower. Come Monday morning, Dean Winchester would be back to his chess-loving, student-council-secretarying life, and him and Cas would have nothing in common but a few study sessions and that one ridiculous prank.

As predicted, Phoebo had gotten a stern talking-to about theft, vandalism, trespassing and so on, but nothing was *done* about it. If anything, it had upped the guy's street cred a little. The returned N had been restored without fanfare, and Boner High would be relegated to the memories (and yearbooks) of its students and staff. 

"I thought of another one, Phoebo: 'Boner Kill,'" Marcus joked. Phoebo shook his head, laughing. Yeah, he was definitely getting some mileage out of 'his' prank. Marcus and Kelly had been coming up with bad puns and mock news headlines all day, and that made Dean happy, even if he never got the credit he deserved.

Cas arrived with Kelly and Trina in tow. Dean recognized the sound of his steps, even before his sock-clad feet came into view through the slats of the bannister. Dean wondered if they should have removed their shoes, wondering what Cas had done with his customized Adidas sneakers. Why hadn't the parents said anything about shoes in the house? Shit.

Kelly was in a bit of a daze. "Rough ride over?," Phoebo joked.

"Noooo," she said slowly, and a little too breathily. "It was amaaaziiing. That car is so.. it's just.. it feels like.."

Cas moved up behind her. "Sex?," he suggested.

Kelly blushed, her eyes closing for a beat. "Maybe. I'll get back to you on that someday," she managed. Dean noticed Kelly and Trina had removed their footwear, too.

"Hey, Cas. I'm sorry we didn't take off our shoes already; nobody said anything." Dean felt like he'd already screwed up. 

Cas shrugged. "No sweat. Just kick 'em off now."

Dean felt strangely vulnerable without them, losing almost an inch of height. Besides that, there was something intimate about removing *any* article of clothing in Cas' presence.

Trina said her hellos, then tugged an all-too-happy-to-follow Marcus over to two empty chairs. Other guests were starting to arrive, and each one eventually noticed the shoeless status of their peers. Within half an hour, forty pairs of shoes were tucked under various chairs or beneath the refreshment table.

Satisfied that everyone he was expecting had arrived, Cas clapped his hands.

"Okay, gang. Who wants to play Dance Pants Challenge?" Several whoops, cheers, and 'ooohs' came from the assembled revelers.

That was the name of the game Dean hadn't been able to recall. Oh, jeez. It was different to most of its genre, sort of a strip-poker set-up. If the system beat you, or a human opponent bested you, you had to moon the group.

No way was he playing that. No effing way.

"That must be why," Dean thought aloud.

"Why what?," asked Cas, munching a cookie near Dean's ear. The dude was seriously ninja. Or maybe Dean had a serious daydreaming problem. Both? Whatever.

"Uh, I was thinking that must be why you wanted everyone to take off their shoes," Dean stammered.

Cas smiled. "Well, that and I have a slight foot fetish."

Dean stared, mouth agape until he thought to close it. Did not blink. Cas didn't, either.

"I'm kidding. Relax. It's a fun game. You want to play a round with me?"

Dean exhaled slowly through his nose, hoping it didn't whistle as loudly as he thought it did. Play a round, Dean, not play around. Get a fucking grip.

"Uh, maybe not. When it comes to academia, I'm your man, but when it comes to anything requiring agility, strength or coordination, I'm more of a spectator than a participant."

Cas' laughter was warm, and Dean felt it sink into his skin, settling somewhere deep in his gut. "You say the funniest shit, man. Alright. But you're missin' out."

Cas had enough cool points to risk looking like a doofus at his own party. Dean's cool points were in constant danger of going into the negative. Maybe they already were.

The host fired up the game, selecting a beginner level for round one. Darcy Morris accepted the challenge, and Dean immediately regretted his refusal. She was one of the cheerleaders, and Dean (along with the rest of the school) could see at least two big, round reasons she'd made the squad. Those reasons began to bounce rather beguilingly as the music picked up pace. Cas' gaze shifted back and forth between Darcy and the screen, keeping an eye on her form as well as his own. Damn it.

"The one time Cas would ever ask me to dance.. Dean, you idiot." Technically, Cas *had* asked him to dance. It was hardly a slow dance, but it still counted for something. Now Darcy was getting what could have been his turn. Phoebo watched as Dean threw his head back a little too hard against the wall.

"Can I play that game, too?," Phoebo deadpanned. "Is it the 'refer to oneself in the third person while giving oneself brain trauma' challenge?"

"Ha ha, Phoebo. If that WAS a game, I'd beat you at it."

Once Darcy slipped up, missing a step entirely (apparently cheerleaders didn't have to be talented at choreography if they looked good enough in a tight sweater and short skirt), it was time for the forfeit. Darcy hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, shoving them down past her hips as she leaned over. You could barely see half of her ass, but Cas let it go. After the crowd's reactions, a blushing Darcy made her way over to the drinks.

Next up was Maria Goldberg. After Maria's bragging about her "mad dance skills," Cas put her to the test by setting the game to intermediate. Maria lost, too, and Dean had to watch (along with a leering Phoebo) as she got to shake her moneymaker for the group. Phoebo seemed especially happy that her panties were purple; he'd developed a fixation on that color recently.

Billy Carson was up next, the center guard of the school b-ball team. Dean noticed how good he looked next to Cas, and he could feel the friendly rivalry the two shared, which apparently extended off the court. They were tied the first round, and then again in the second, leading to a Sudden Death round. The crowd was hyped, each partygoer rooting for their man. The track was manic, and Cas, whether by accident or design, eventually slipped up, one foot sliding clear off the dance mat - an automatic losing move. Dean's heart was in his throat as Cas made a big show of hitching up his britches, wiggling his behind, and s-l-o-w-l-y easing them down...

..and that's when it happened.


	8. Chapter 8

The screen faded to black. The music was sucked into silence. The lights flickered and died.

Voices rose, first in agitated laughter, then in growing panic.

"Everybody calm down. Probably just tripped a fuse or something," Cas said. His voice commanded the room without yelling, and quiet conversations replaced what could have quickly become pandemonium.

With no natural light from windows or other fixtures, Cas had to use his cellphone flashlight app to make his way to the breaker box. 

"Go help him, stupid," Phoebo hissed, nudging his friend.

Dean found the balls to put one foot in front of the other, making the long trek across the now-deserted floor of the room with only his phone's backlight to guide him.

"Who's there? Oh. Hey, Dean." Cas was peering at the breaker box, frowning. Nothing seemed amiss. 

Then a terrible thought struck each man at the same instant.

"You don't think it's.."

No sooner had Cas started the question than the wail of the air raid sirens pierced the atmosphere.

"My phone's not working," Cal Ando called out.

"Mine either," said Cindy Orebaugh. Soon there was a chorus of similar sentiments. The loss of service wasn't due to being below ground (signal still reached there) - so what was going on?

Dean felt his palms beginning to sweat. "I didn't hear anything about a system test. Did you?"

Cas shook his head no. "Then again, there have been rumors for some time that we'd start having unannounced drills.."

But why would their own government intentionally plunge the city into darkness? Some sort of sick experiment?

The sirens grew louder, and as the minutes ticked by, everyone waited for the all-clear.

"Maybe it got hacked," said one boy.

"Or it broke," said someone else.

Cas felt dread creeping into his limbs, turning his blood to ice in his veins. "This is bad. It's really fucking bad.."

Dean had to agree with him.

Kids made their way to the snack table, groping by the dim light of cell phones as they found solace in cookies, chips and cola. There was no sound but the sirens as Cas felt his way along the wall to a small panel, popping it open and retrieving a radio.

"This runs on batteries," he said. "Maybe we can figure out what the fuck is going on up there.."

At the push of a button, static filled the shelter, the radio searching for a readable frequency. Cas fiddled with the tuner dial, finding a news bulletin in mid-sentence.

"..until further notice. Repeat: Citizens are urged to remain indoors or seek shelter immediately. Do not open doors, windows or air vents. In the event of a nuclear or biological weapons attack, the outside air will become unsafe. Remain calm. If you are outside, take cover now.

This is a pre-recorded message from the Federal Safety Commission. A national security alert has been issued. Citizens are urged to remain indoors until further notice. Repeat: Citizens are - "

Cas changed the station. Different variations of the same bleak news cropped up on both AM and FM frequencies - some delivered by robotic automated voices, others, by desperate or flat, emotionless live reporters. 

Cas continued to turn the dial, holding on to some feverish delusion that it was all a grand prank, or a huge misunderstanding, or a runaway rumor. "It's like 'War of the Worlds,'" he choked out, and Dean was impressed that Cas had even heard of it.

Someone in the corner was sobbing, the sound muffled by a hand in front of her mouth as she tried to hold back. Kids were huddling together, some babbling wildly, others stunned into silence. This must be what it's like to be on a plane that's been hijacked, Dean thought. In that moment of uncertainty, everything becomes heightened, and you realize what truly matters to you.

"Cas.. Maybe we should switch it off," Dean said gently.

"No.. There's got to be hope, some good news, SOMETHING. It can't.." He didn't finish, but Dean heard it: 'It can't end like this.'

Cas finally found a station which was upbeat. The DJ, whose trade moniker was DJ Funstuff, was talking excitedly into the microphone, and the kids all stopped to listen.

"Hey, big shout-out to all the folks here in our signal range of Norman, Kansas. The weather outside is currently a balmy fifty six degrees, I've got a great view of the night sky from here in the studio, got the windows open, the generators running the show - literally - and an update for ya - "

Everyone held their breath - 

"reliable sources have spotted multiple warheads en route to our little shit-water burg. Yes, folks, it seems Russia is determined to put us on the map - by wiping us off of it." He paused for half a beat before continuing. "Comin' up next, another rockin' line-up of some of my favorite tunes - why? Because YOLO, and and and because there's noooobody here to stop me!"

The kids heard the song start: 'It's the end of the world and we know it..'

Someone screamed, but was quickly shushed.

"Dean.. What do we do?"

What the fuck could any of them do?

Halfway through the song, the first dull thud sounded somewhere in the distance. The ground trembled, and kids clung to each other tightly. Cas was hugging himself, and Dean's hands felt empty and useless, unsure of what to do.

The next song was largely drowned out by the sounds of counter-fire and the renewed wailing of the sirens. 

Kelly covered her ears, visualizing being at home, opening her mailbox to find the Johns Hopkins letter.

Marcus was in a corner, making out with Trina like it would save their lives. 

Phoebo was reminiscing about that one time he'd been the school hero-slash-jokester. Oh, and the time he'd seen Maria's purple-panty-covered ass.

Dean recognized the next song. "Hey. Listen. Cas.. Listen."

'There's a fire going on but the party's just begun  
So keep your focus lookin' at me tonight  
So the world's about to end, gonna party with my friends  
And ain't nobody gonna say it's not right  
And I know nothing's gonna stand in my way  
No matter what the people may say..'

Dean, desperate and blinded by love, pulled Cas to his feet. "I'll take that dance now," he said.

"Wha?," Cas replied, halfway out of his mind with terror.

"You asked me earlier, sort of, and I was a loser. I said no. But I'm not embarrassed now. Who's gonna care, right?"

Cas almost smiled. "Right."

Other kids took their cue, getting up to dance as the world ended. Eat your heart out, Britney Spears.

The song played on.

"Keep your eyes all on me, for what you're gonna see  
Will redefine the height of attraction  
I'm a distraction, and I'm ready for action  
So the world's gonna blow, stop complaining and go to the show  
There's explosions in the sky, and the neighborhood is fried.." 

Dean felt himself moving to the rhythm, letting himself go - letting himself FEEL, rather than think. It was wonderful. Was this why athletes got addicted to movement? It was a rush, tapping into something deep inside of him. No logic; just sensation.

"And I know something's gonna happen tonight,  
All the stars around us taking flight  
But there's something that invites me to stay  
'Cause I'm drawn to the rhythm of the music they play,  
And we're all gonna die anyway -  
So enjoy it while you can, come what may.."

The plan was working. The kids who were dancing really got into it, because fuck it, they weren't going to sit and cry, cowering as they waited to be obliterated by faceless, spineless, button-pushing enemies. FUCK that shit.

"This is the best party EVER!"

"Epic! Yes!"

The thuds outside drew nearer, so they cranked up the volume.

"FUCK THE WAR!"

"Make love and dance! Come on, y'all!"

"Coooookiiiieeeessss!"

Most of the kids had found their distraction in one form or another. As Dean thought back over his recent life, he realized how lucky he'd been: good health, amazing friends, food to eat, fun adventures, and the time he'd gotten with Cas.

Cas.

The song was almost over, and Dean felt like the seconds were counting backward to zero hour.

"..watching the show, 'cause there's no more to know, here we go!

I'm a distraction.."

Dean found purchase, his fingers gripping Cas' well-muscled arms in the darkness.

"..he's a distraction.."

Cas' body froze, incomprehension seizing him - until it hit him, what was about to happen. He heard Dean's kiss before he felt it, heard it over the noise of the explosions and the inane chatter of the almost-dead, the soft, wet sigh of breath, a parting of the lips - 

"..we're a distraction.."

Holy Mother of Zyrgotron, Dean thought as his mouth rested against Cas.' His biggest regret, other than not doing this sooner, was that nobody would see it. Still - he'd know.

Cas' mouth opened slightly, whether in surprise or invitation, he wasn't sure. Dean could taste the residue of Cas' cookie, mingling with his own fruit punch. There was something else there, too, some taste he couldn't identify. Other than ill-advised and never-mentioned practice kisses with Kelly years ago, this was Dean's first 'actual' kiss. Cas leaned into it, and suddenly there was a hand in Dean's hair that hadn't been there before. It didn't belong to him. It must be - 

"..we're a distraction."

The song ended, the notes dying as the radio batteries conked out, sparing the kids from hearing the DJ's agonized death screams as an explosion rocked the radio station.

The house above them shook, and it seemed that the very walls surrounding them were about to cave in. Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter, breathing Cas in, internalizing him spiritually. Would some future alien race find their skeletal remains aligned beneath the rubble? Would their joined forms be put on display in a museum for the benefit of alien kids' field trips?

Dean thought of how easy, how right, how perfect the kiss felt. He thought of how lucky he was that Cas had not pulled away or used his considerable strength to do Dean harm. He thought, with sadness, about how this would be the one and only chance he'd ever get to be with the man he now knew he loved.

Then he thought nothing for several hours as the world went black.


	9. Chapter 9

The room was cold. Okay, it was freezing. The floor was hard and unforgiving, and as the kids came back to consciousness, everything hurt.

There were sore heads, full bladders and bowels begging to be emptied, empty stomachs begging to be filled, dry mouths parched for water - and oh, the awkward silence, the averted gazes, the blushing faces.

"Are we dead?," asked Troy Gallagher.

"Yes, nimrod, we're all dead. Seriously?," chimed in Sarah Hawkins.

"Mmmman, I gotta pee!"

A slight scuffle broke out as kids crawled to the bathroom, but order eventually prevailed.

Cas awoke by degrees, eyes scrunched shut. Wriggling his toes came first; they all seemed to be present. Next he tried his ankles, then legs, bending at the knees, followed by sitting up. His head had been resting against something soft, yet not squishy soft. As Cas felt the blood-flow returning to his brain, he opened his eyes at last to glance back over his shoulder and saw Dean Winchester, still out of it.

Ah. So his pillow had been Dean's stomach.

Cas considered him in repose. He was .. actually rather beautiful. It was then that Cas realized the lights were back on, allowing him that view. How much time had passed? 

Dean was beginning to stir. Cas stole another look, noticing how Dean was in pretty good shape for a non-athlete. He had no way of knowing that one of the ways Dean got such a flat stomach was from contorting himself into unusual positions for solo sex, but Cas could admire the results of those.. exercises even in his obliviousness to their nature. 

"Dean," Cas said, ignoring his screaming bladder. "Hey. Wake up."

Dean had been having the oddest dream. He'd gone to a party with a bunch of cool kids, and he'd gotten to dance in the dark with Cas, kissing him just before the world ended.

"Mmhhf?," said Dean. Cas found sleepy Dean unbearably cute.

"We made it."

Dean opened his eyes. "I wasn't dreaming."

Cas fidgeted. "Well, you were. Probably. But, some of what you thought was a dream.. actually happened." His head hurt. "What do you remember from before?"

Dean sat up, getting a head rush. "I remember.. the party. And then we.. Fuck."

Cas tilted his head. "Not quite. We did kiss, though."

Kill me now, Dean thought. "I.."

Now *Cas* was embarrassed. "Don't you remember?"

Dean could've been an asshole and blamed it on the boogie. He could've denied all memory of 'the kiss.' But Dean Winchester was not going to be a coward. Not now. 

"I remember." Then, "Was it.. okay?"

Cas wasn't sure if he meant 'okay' as in 'consensual,' or 'okay' as in 'enjoyable.' "It was.. incredible."

Cas had to excuse himself to use the restroom, and when he returned, Dean was staring at the t.v.

"How do you get channels on this thing?," Dean asked.

Cas showed him how to pick up local stations, and they watched the morning news report on channel six.

"..local authorities say the half-life for the substance is mere hours, meaning that decon efforts can begin immediately. Remember, the contaminant, Nonoxyl Seven, is lethal to vulnerable populations if absorbed in large enough doses, so keep pets, young children, and anyone with a compromised immune system indoors until further notice. We now go live to our satellite correspondent in Washington, Mark Walters. Mark, what's the latest?"

"Thank you, Wendy. Well, we're getting reports from all forty-eight of the continental United states of missile strikes taking place in a synchronized attack lasting several hours. Structural damage is considerable; however, the good news is that loss of life was minimal, and that no further casualties are expected from any of the contaminants as long as people follow the guidelines. This was a warning or a test run, plain and simple, Wendy - if the Russians had wanted us annihilated, they had several more potent contaminants at their disposal. Again, I'd like to reiterate what you just said, and that is that it is not yet completely safe to venture outside. The risk is low-level, but it is still there. Millions of people have been experiencing headaches, memory issues, uh, loss of consciousness, nausea, and other symptoms we'd normally associate with a flu or a bad hangover. For most cases, Wendy, the FDA is recommending self-care at home. Now let's check in with Second Lieutenant Rob Taylor at Langley Air Force Base for a military update."

The guys exchanged a look. "So, basically, the country got shot up all to hell, and we all got kind of sick, but we aren't doomed yet?," Cas wondered aloud. 

Kelly staggered over to Dean. "Please tell me someone spiked the punch and that shit isn't real," she said, gesturing toward the t.v.

"Sorry, Kels. It's real." Dean was breathing, feeling alive. Groggy and puke-y, but alive.

Marcus untangled himself from Trina's long, long legs, beneath which he had been happily pinned for several hours (if it was possible to be happy while unconscious). "Mornin', Dean. 'Sup, Cas? Heyyy, Kelly."

It was all over his face what had happened in the 'last moments' before the world was due to end. 

"Dude, I am SO not ready for details," Dean laughed.

"Okay. At least I'd already told her I loved her, so it didn't sound like a line just to get her to - "

"MARCUS," Kelly warned.

"Alright, alright. You and Trina can have girl-talk about it later, since, you know, we're all alive and stuff."

Kelly smiled. "Looking forward to it."

Phoebo joined his friends. "Congrats, Marcus. Oh, and, uh, you too, Dean. Not bad for a novice."

Dean blanched. "What? I didn't - I mean, we didn't - huh?"

Phoebo was pleased with himself. "I was just bluffing, but, way to tell on yourself. So, Cas - my man Dean here take care of business?"

Cas was blushing again, the news report now forgotten. "He's a great kisser," Cas said easily. It was true.

"I am? I mean, thanks. I mean.. Shit." Dean needed a minute. As he excused himself, Kelly looked Cas up and down.

"So, is he going to be just another notch on that belt of yours, or..?"

Cas met her gaze. "I resemble that remark."

She play-punched him in the arm. "The next one won't be playful. I mean it, mister. I don't care WHO you are or WHAT team you run with."

"Fair enough. He's.. special. Okay? I like him."

For such a petite lady, Kelly had a sharp stare with a lot of weight behind it. Letting her face relax after studying Cas intently, she exhaled. "Okay. Just don't screw this up."

She went to get some party-food leftovers for breakfast, enjoying them all the more considering she was, like, not dead. As she chewed, Kelly decided that, even if she didn't get into her chosen school, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Phoebo had managed to engage Maria in conversation, and she was actually smiling and having a good time. In fact, all around the room, kids were being nicer to each other. The invisible line between 'cool' and 'uncool,' the 'us' and 'them' mentality, had evaporated. They were all alive; that was common ground. Some of them were going to find they were homeless or almost-homeless, and the school gym looked like a spaghetti strainer, but they'd survived, and, together, they'd find a way to rebuild and move forward. 

Cas and Dean sat down, staring at the television for another long moment. A US correspondent in Moscow was interviewing stunned citizens, the US having returned fire, tit for tat. The American version of Nonoxyl Seven was called Ublate, and apparently had similar effects. Dean wondered how many Russian teens had made out with their crushes in their 'last moments.'

"I know this is going to sound cheesy..," Cas began.

Dean's eyes flickered over to Cas, away from the screen. "Okay. But?"

"..but, I don't think most of them are that different to most of us. I mean, think about it. Most people in the world just want to live boring, pleasant lives; they don't want drama and bull-crap and blowing shit up. Am I crazy?"

Dean shook his head no. "Not crazy." He looked again at the screen. The emotions - terror, disgust, anger, sadness, and even hope - were universal on the people's faces. These weren't the ones who'd fired the missiles, just as Dean and the other kids weren't the ones who'd fired back. They were all victims, pawns in the ultimate game of power chess. What the fuck was the point of it all?

"It's deeper than that, though," Dean went on, hoping he could phrase this right. "Look around. The jocks, the nerds, the weirdoes, the preppies, all talking. All helping each other. That's how it should be. We're not THAT different, deep down."

Cas was realizing that. "Yeah. Like you and me."

Dean froze as Cas put his hand over Dean's.

"I don't care that you don't play sports. You don't care that I don't play chess. We just.. get along." He knew he was having an epihp - an epip - an aha moment. "Or like Marcus and Trina. Maybe even Phoebo and Maria."

Dean nodded. "We're all people. We all want the same basic things."

Something occurred to Cas then. "What did you most want out of life before the world ended?"

Dean summoned the courage to voice it. "I wanted a chance to spend time with you, to show you I could be good enough. What about you?"

Cas, buoyed by Dean's confession, spilled his own. "I wanted somebody to love me for once for who I am - not for my car or my trophies or my 'reputation,'" he said with sarcasm in his tone. "Just for me."

Dean scooted closer. Nobody batted an eye. "So.. Did you find it? What you were looking for?"

Cas couldn't think of a better answer than another kiss.

"Although I *am* rather fond of The Machine," Dean teased.

"Dean Winchester, when we get out of this bunker, I'm going to take you for a ride, and you won't be able to sit on your bike for a week."

"A ride in the car, or..?"

They laughed, feeling more hopeful than they had since the beginning of the nuclear standoff. The world had ended, and everything had become new.


	10. Chapter 10

The school was still standing, although all gym activities had to be moved outside. The normal stresses of finals, prom prep (it was going to be outside! Under the stars!) and daily annoyances didn't seem so stressful in the context of narrowly avoiding a nuclear apocalypse.

Thousands of young people in the US and in Russia had taken to the streets, demanding an end to the ridiculous bigger-dick contest between the two nations' governments. Change was slow, especially on the 'other' side, but it was coming, little by little. The threat was still alive, but it wasn't kicking and screaming anymore.

At Bonner High, there was a deeper sense of everyone being in this mess together. The seniors dispensed fewer knuckle sandwiches to the froshies, and cliques, while still largely intact, became more fluid. It was okay to have a nerd friend, a jock friend, an artsy or drama club friend, and do your own thing. 

For his part, Dean had found that working up a sweat could be quite enjoyable. As Dean enjoyed that promised ride in The Machine, the soft leather seat cover clinging to his stomach as Cas showed him a (w)hole new world, the nerd offered up a prayer of thanks for the chance to live long enough to get la - uh, make love.

As they caught their breath, Cas spoke. "I think I figured out what sport you're best at."

Dean, giddy with love and aftershocks, played along. "Okay. Which one?"

"Tonsil hockey."

Cas waited. Dean gave a weak smile.

"That's lame, dude. I think you just lost a cool point."

"You can't take my cool points!," Cas cried, enjoying the banter.

"You totally just put them into me. Plural points. Sorry. They're mine now."

"Sexually transmitted cool points?"

"Pretty much. Every time you bust a nut, you're gonna - hey!"

Cas was wrestling Dean, making more of a mess, the car now full of their sweat and their love and their laughter. 

"Seriously, Dean.."

Cas had stilled, no longer laughing. Dean's gut clenched. Was he about to get pumped and dumped?

"I love you. I know my rep, but, I've never said that to anyone before, because.. well, because I didn't feel it. I wasn't sure that I *could* feel it."

Cas stroked Dean's face. He looked different without his glasses; Cas wasn't sure which look he preferred. That gave him an idea.

Dean was trying to be calm, while inside, he was dancing. "I love you too, Cas. I didn't think I'd ever say that to anyone, because I didn't think I'd ever be with you."

Cas, without losing an ounce of the seriousness on his face, grabbed Dean's glasses, putting them on. 

"What do you say you give me some lessons?"

Dean snorted. "What kind of lessons? What could I possibly teach you, Mr. Good-at-everything?"

"Hmm. How about teaching me to calculate the trajectory of your next wad so I can prep the landing pad?"

"You're a sick little monkey," laughed Dean. 

"Do my glasses get you hot?"

"Stop that! Those are MY - "

"Come on, Professor Winchester! Talk nerdy to me!"

"I'm gonna teach you backseat chess, Cas. " Dean rolled him over, pinning him down. "Checkmate."

"So you're gonna make me king you?"

Dean groaned. "Tell me that was a joke. Please."

Cas laughed, leaving Dean to wonder.

As words and giggles gave way to sighs and moans, Dean's foot hit the radio, music filling the car. 

"We're a distraction of pure satisfaction  
There's a war going on, but in here we all won,  
'Cause nobody is slowing the traction..

There's a power that's growing by the hour I'm positive I don't want to miss  
I'm a distraction.."


End file.
